April 27th Cold Case
by Violet-Pears
Summary: Death is supposed to be final. It's supposed to be the end of your stay on Earth. Wherever your soul ends up next, it's not supposed to be in a body that should no longer be there. / Wally West just wants to go home. Bruce Wayne wants everyone out of his city. Everybody else has other ideas./ Rating is likely to go up
1. Chapter 1

There was nothing natural about the city. From the air to the people; the constant, lingering darkness clung to everything and everyone. It was as if every form of light was being consumed by the overwhelming power of the darkness.

The water was filthy. Dark and disgusting, filled with all kinds of pollution. The air was thick and muggy; the dark, cloud heavy skies forever unchanging. It was in the passers-by eyes. A permanent darkness clinging to their souls; scowls fixed to their faces and eyes constantly narrowed. The darkness was almost tangible, thicker near alley's and backstreets; consistent in the cities centre. Fear so strong it clung to everything.

Gotham City was the kind of dark that made the blood in his veins freeze and the breath hitch in his throat. The kind of darkness that left people feeling scared within their own homes. Even during the day, light refused to filter through the cloud cover. He had to wonder if the citizens of Gotham even knew what the sun was.

Leaning forward, a breath of air slid past his lips. He wanted to go home, but he was stuck there. Uncle Barry kept telling him that their stay in Gotham was temporary, but it didn't make him feel any better. He didn't belong there. The darkness was suffocating; he was a fan of the light. Hot sunny days and _hope_. Two things that were impossibly foreign to Gotham.

The city was the crime capital of the world. Not just in the Human World, but the Shadow World too. There were more rogue Downworlders in Gotham than there were in most of the world combined. There were more turf wars; more Shadowhunter murders; more turnings; more broken rules, and more power struggles than in any other part of the world. And that was before anyone even bothered to pay attention to how many Demon attacks occurred per year.

Not only was Gotham the crime capital; it was the Demon capital. A hub for Demonic activity that didn't dwindle; _ever_.

Tilting his head back, he glared up at the sky. He had been there almost three days. Almost three days of dealing with some of the weirdest Shadowhunters he had ever met. Almost three days of almost constant Demonic attacks. Three days of nothing but dark, heavy, clouds and artificial light.

The clouds didn't budge. Not once. No sunlight. No moonlight. No stars.

Was it ever light in Gotham?

A snort pulled him from his thoughts, and he realised that maybe, just maybe, he had started to think out loud.

"You ever want to introduce the sun to the good people of Gotham, you know where we are."

Before he could turn to see the man who had interrupted his attempt at alone time, there was someone sitting next to him; legs dangling over the edge of the apartment block. Looking at him, he realised that there was something familiar about him. Paying attention he thought that the young man couldn't be too much younger than himself. Looking at him a little longer, and Wally realised there was a chance he _could_ be a hell of a lot older than him.

Prominent dark circles were under the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen. And the young man's face, while tan, was the kind of pale that reminded him of the dead.

 _Vampire_.

"Sorry, the sun blocked my number; something about not wanting to associate with the night."

Sometimes he wondered if he had a subconscious death wish. He had been warned off associating with Vampires outside meetings. They were volatile, and according to his uncle Barry they had no sense of humour. Not forgetting that almost every encounter he had with a Vampire often resulted in him nearly having his head ripped off for accidentally offending someone.

The rules were supposed to be simple; Shadowhunters and Downworlders don't associate outside of business. But he was an overly friendly guy; and Gotham wasn't exactly known for maintaining rules.

And if the Vampire was _just_ as gorgeous as any of the Fae Folk he had met, he would just tell himself that had _nothing_ to do with making the stupid comment.

A grin slowly spread across the Vampires face and Wally slowly turned to look out across the city. He was expecting to be called in at any moment; and wouldn't that be just his luck.

"You're new."

Squashing his initial sarcastic quip, he wondered how important the Vampire was. Not just _any_ Vampire would know that he wasn't from around.

"A transfer from Idris?"

"No." He let out a humourless laugh. Shaking his head, he though _fuck it_. Why couldn't he have a normal conversation with a Vampire. They were all people, after all. "Central City institute. Apparently there isn't nearly enough Shadowhunters to deal with the sudden influx of Demon activity. That and the Clave wants my Aunt Iris to help crack down on Downworlder activity, but this _is_ Gotham. I'm pretty convinced Shadowhunters are next to obsolete here."

"Obsolete? That's a pretty big word, you use a lot of those?"

His lips twitched upwards. "Sometimes. Can't throw them around all willy-nilly though, people start developing _expectations_." He over-dramatically breathed the last word out, widening his eyes as he looked towards the Vampire.

Despite what people wanted to think about him, he wasn't an idiot. He was a near-certified genius. Not that he would openly brag about it; it was ten times more hilarious to surprise people who thought he was stupid with his intelligence.

"Oh, you don't want that." There was a smile on the Vampires face, and his bright eyes were burning into Wally. "Don't worry, Shadowhunter, I'll keep your smarts a secret." Slowly blue eyes dragged off of him to gaze out across the darkness that encompassed the city. "I wouldn't say that the Nephilim here are _obsolete_. Just _mostly_ unwanted."

"You know how to make a guy feel special, dude."

The laugh that filled the air made Wally's lips curve into a smile.

"B's better at keeping the unrest at ease than Kent." Something about the way he spoke that made Wally pause. "Kent's _too_ nice and diplomatic for Gotham. Drive's B insane. Rogue Downworlder's around here don't respond to _second chances_ and _diplomacy_ well. Manipulative bastards."

"Kill don't question then?" Wally asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No." And the Vampire's lips seemed fixed into a frown. "B doesn't like to kill. We get the rogues to the Clave. Kent throws a hissy fit. Rinse and repeat."

Snorting, his lips pulled upwards. "I can understand why the Clave hates Gotham. Arresting Downworlders is _supposed_ to be our job."

" _Supposed_ to be. Though I'm sure B would reluctantly hand that task back over to you Nephilim when you're all able to handle the Downworlders around here correctly."

"Hmm." His legs started bouncing off the side of the building, because sitting still for too long was something he had never mastered. Wally West and stealth missions were a truly rare sighting. "I assume the word reluctantly means that he enjoys sending the ' _bad guys_ _'_ to hell."

"Who doesn't?"

An incessant buzzing came from the Vampire's pocket, and a frustrated sigh slid off his lips. Pulling his phone out, he hid ignore before looking at the screen.

"Bloody hell, honestly. I leave for _five minutes_." Pulling himself into a crouch, he turned to face Wally. "Well, as fun as this has been, I have to go stop one brother from staking the other. Honestly, he's just jealous that the damn cat _likes_ Tim's company." Shaking his head, a smile flitted on to his face. "I'll see you around -" He paused, head tilting to the side slightly.

"Wallace. _Wally_ West."

"Grayson. Dick Grayson."

He was gone, and all Wally could think was _oh_.

 _Oh_.

And the reason the Vampire looked familiar slipped into his mind. Richard 'Dick' Grayson was the eldest, adoptive son of Bruce Wayne. Incredibly rich, incredibly famous, playboy-billionaire, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Bruce Wayne.

It took him a moment. Wondering if Grayson being a Vampire meant that Bruce was, but then he thought back over the conversation and;

 _Oh holy shit_.

While he wanted to slam his head repeatedly off a desk screaming 'why do these things happen to me' he decided to settle for a disgruntled groan. Because he would put every penny he owned on being the last person in the entire Shadow World to know that Bruce fucking Wayne was a _Vampire_. He was more than tempted to put every penny he owned on the man being the head of the Gotham Clan.

Oh God. He just wanted to go _home_.

* * *

"Oh look, baywatch is back."

"Oh look, blondie has yet to hit a target."

Artemis' glare would probably do more damage if he hadn't spent _three years_ having the same glare shot his way in Idris. The girl had one hell of a temper, and really, he wasn't in the mood. Not to deal with her mood swings, or Roy's constant 'you'll settle in fine eventually'. _Eventually_ he was going home, to hell with whether Roy liked having him around or not.

The only upside to the Gotham Institute was the fact Hal was there. Hal who wasn't his uncle but as good as. The man had been transferred to Gotham two years prior, and Wally had missed him like hell.

"I think you'll find I hit a bullseye every time, West."

Wally snorted and turned to look at her; because honestly, he had _zero_ impulse control – at least that was still more than Bart. "No proof, no believe. Everyone knows you're all talk, Crock."

"Everyone knows your nothing but a bitter asshole, West."

Well, he couldn't really argue that. "Better than being a bitter bitch."

"Wow. It's almost like West wasn't gone for the past five hours. You two really know how to live out the definition of ' _picking up where we left off_ ' in the worst way possible." Roy may have been his best friend, but sometimes he just wanted to punch the bastard.

Annoying the hell out of Artemis was one of the few good things he would get out of being in Gotham. His lack of impulse control meant arguments were a given, and with the bitter frustration he felt it was probably somewhat healthy to let off that steam. Uncle Barry was always trying to convince him that letting off a little steam was good for the soul. Decking Artemis sounded like it could be fun. Being decked _by_ Artemis didn't sound fun; so risking an actual fight was never going to happen. Insults and arguments were really all he had.

"Conner wants to see us. Rumours of Slade being out and about have started circulating; which means the rumours about Vandal might be more than just rumours. I don't believe that this can be a coincidence."

Artemis snorted. "When it comes to Vandal, _nothings_ a coincidence."

Biting his tongue, Wally resisted the urge to question Artemis. It was the mere tone of her voice that had him remaining silent. That didn't mean his mind wasn't working faster than his feet.

Because no one had seen Vandal in fifteen years. There was no way Artemis Crock could know what was or wasn't a coincidence. And if she did, then what sort of a shit-storm were they really headed for?


	2. Chapter 2

" _Grayson_!"

Groaning, he opened his eyes. All he had wanted was to _sleep_. He had hoped that he would have been able to get at least a nap before someone was set off by _something_.

"If you have a problem with Tim, talk. it. out. No staking. No maiming. Just talk about it. It's not Tim's fault your pet's like him. It's not-"

"It's not about Drake."

Part of him highly doubted that. The two of them had spent a good two, almost three, years being at each others throats, and after a year and a half of peace it had started up again. Damian almost always had some form of vendetta against Tim, and Dick wanted _nothing_ to do with any of it. It was at the point that Dick was wondering who they were really trying to convince that they hated each other more; the rest of the family, or each other.

"Honestly, not everything revolves around _him_."

Dick raised an eyebrow, lips twitching. "Your inability to get past two days without an incident would suggest otherwise."

The younger snorted, jade eyes narrowing.

Damian was the only member of their family who was not a Vampire. No one was all too sure of the details, all they knew was that the kid was biologically Bruce's son – the how's and why's were something Dick wasn't really interested in. Damian had all but been dumped on them at the age of ten; a small ball of angry frustration and desperate to prove himself. Unfortunately for everyone else, Tim had only just been turned and Bruce was trying to help him adjust. With Bruce dedicating more time to helping a newborn Vampire than the son he hadn't even known about, the war between Damian and Tim started.

Damian had wanted Bruce's attention and while Tim had been willing to step aside so Damian could have his fathers attention, Damian maintained a grudge.

"It's Todd."

 _Nope_.

 _Oh no_.

All he wanted was to _rest_. They had _just_ finished dealing with Nigma's rogues; Jason was not a problem he wanted to be dealing with.

"Great, let Bruce handle it." Rolling into a seated position, he ran his hands down his face.

"Father is busy at the Institute. Kent asked to speak with him. Which means, you're in charge."

Fuck his life.

"Grab Tim and arm yourself."

If he was going to be miserable, then he was going to make them miserable too.

"You wish for me to accompany you?" The genuine surprise in the younger boys voice shocked Dick.

Damian's head was cocked to the side, jade eyes burning into him.

They both knew that he shouldn't be risking taking Damian anywhere; especially not with Bruce's strict order. The kid wasn't to leave the Manor; not without Bruce or Alfred accompanying him. But keeping him locked up wasn't healthy. Not when he was so desperate to get out and explore. The longer he was kept on the tight leash, the worse the consequences would become. Dick was surprised Damian hadn't run off.

"Nobody's better with a sword than you are."

By God how he sometimes wished that wasn't true.

While he probably should have just called Bruce to convince the older man that whatever the Shadowhunters wanted could wait, he didn't. He had been telling Bruce for years that they needed a better relationship with the Gotham Nephilim. Whether Bruce liked it or not, they needed the Nephilim around. To drag him from the meeting would be counter productive.

So instead he found himself running across Gotham city, chasing down the only rogue Vampire they had refused to hand over to the Clave. Whether any of them wanted to admit it or not, they could never just hand Jason over.

"JASON!"

He knew before the name finished leaving his lips that yelling for him was a bad idea. Damian face-palmed, muttering in Arabic under his breath as a flash of black and white hair disappeared off the side of a building.

"Way to go, Grayson. That really had him stopping in his tracks."

Clenching his jaw, he turned to glare at the younger boy. Despite the fact Damian wore a hood that hid most of his face, Dick could still see his jade eyes narrowing. Honestly, he knew teenagers were supposed to be frustrating, but Damian-

Boy was he glad he wasn't that kid's father.

Taking off after Jason, he almost wished he could feel his heart racing in his chest. The adrenaline in his veins; he missed it almost as much as he missed needing to breathe.

Hopping over a car, he pushed himself. Reminding himself that if they didn't catch Jason, the Shadowhunters _might_. And if a Shadowhunter caught Jason-

It didn't matter how long he had been a Vampire for, he still expected the burn of muscles that never came. Still sucked in a breath even though he didn't need to. Feeling _alive_ was something he missed with every fibre of his being. Rounding a corner, he skidded to a halt, the barrel of a gun pressing into his forehead.

"I see you brought the little brat with you."

Jasons head was cocked to the side and Dick could _sense_ Damian bristle on his right.

"Bruce will have your head for that."

Which was most definitely true. The thought that the Shadowhunters would get anywhere near Damian had fear trickling down Dick's spine. They were all scared of what might happen if the Clave found out about Damian's existence.

 _Probably take him away. Lock him up._

"What Bruce doesn't know won't hurt him." Dick replied evenly, slowly raising a hand so he could knock his knuckles against the gun. "There's a good few things he doesn't need to know about."

No matter what, Jason was _family_. No matter what it was that Jason went through Dick always made sure to tell the younger man that he was there. He couldn't promise a lack of judgement, but he would never kidnap him, never imprison him, never hold him against his will. The more free Jason felt, the more comfortable he was coming home. That was what mattered; because they were not a clan, they were a family. A dysfunctional, semi-immortal _family_.

Slowly, the gun lowered. "They deserved it." The gun was tucked into a holster, and Jason folded his arms across his chest. "They were draining children from some of the orphanages."

If the blood in Dick's body flowed through his veins, it would have ran cold. Teeth brushing against his bottom lip.

"Who?"

The younger snorted. "Take a _wild_ guess."

"I thought he was dead." Tim spoke up, confusion lacing his voice. "I mean, how many times have-" He trailed off, sounding almost guilty. "You killed him. This isn't possible."

Jason gave a shrug. "He killed me. And wow, would you look at this, I'm still here."

"Tt- You know you cannot kill anything that is already dead." Damian sounded almost amused, while at the same time sounding as patronising as ever. "He was _destroyed_. As to the hows and whys of his still existing, is it possible someone else is pretending to be him?"

Jason glared at the youngest of them and shook his head. "It's him. Definitely, one hundred percent _him_."

* * *

" _Megaaan_!"

The door slammed as she looked up from the oven with a smile. Garfield bounced into the kitchen with a grin on his face. Jaime was just behind her younger brother, eyes rolling as he shook his head. Their friendship was an odd one, but she encouraged her brother to befriend anyone and everyone that made him feel okay with being what he was. It had taken far too long to try and get Gar to associate with the other werewolves, it was nice to see that he had at least befriended one of them.

"Guess who we ran into?"

Raising an eyebrow, she dropped her oven mits onto the kitchen island. "Who?"

Gar's grin seemed to widen, and he began to waggle his eyebrows. " _Conner_!"

"We saw Artemis too-"

"Pssht, Megan doesn't need to know who he was with. All that matters is we ran into him-"

"By running into him, do you mean how you saw him across the street and decided to run over and talk to him."

Gar's face morphed into a scowl as he turned to glare at his friend. "Dude- _Not_ cool."

She loved her brother more than words. While a magnet for trouble, all he ever wanted was for the best to happen. There were, however, some things that just were not supposed to be. Her school-girl crush on the tall, brooding Shadowhunter was one of them.

"That's _nice_." She offered a half-hearted smile. "I've got some red-velvet cupcakes in the oven. Are you going to be staying for dinner, Jaime?"

"Yeah, yeah, he is- _Anyway_." Gar threw himself onto one of the bar stools. "Turns out they're having a few issues. Slade's been seen a few times near the city centre; this came in after reported sightings of _Vandal Savage_. So they were hunting out a few leads when we ran into them. I asked if they needed any help, and Conner said not at the _moment_." The glint in Gar's eyes didn't fade as his hands slammed onto the table top. "But, the most important part was, that he a. Asked me how you were, and I told him you were doing awesome. And b. When we were saying bye, _he told me to tell you he was asking for you!_ "

"There has been sighting of Vandal Savage?" Her blood was running cold, and her fingers itched at her side. "Gar, what else-"

"Sis, the guy you've been crushing on _forever_ asked for you. Bask in that _first_ , then worry about the psychopath. Priority's."

Jaime snorted and patted Gar on the shoulder. "Yours are skewed, ese. Vandal is a big deal. Selina has been freaking out since the rumours started circulating." Settling down next to Gar, he looked over to Megan. "I wouldn't worry too much. The Shadowhunters are on it; and Arthur, Bruce, and Selina were called to the Institute earlier for a meeting."

Her fingers were tapping incessantly against her leg.

Vandal.

Vandal Savage.

He was back.

"Wait. What meeting?"

Jaime shrugged. "Clark wanted to discuss things with them-"

"He wanted to discuss the issue of Vandal with everyone except the High Warlock. Just because I'm _technically_ standing in doesn't mean we shouldn't be left out-"

Gar's eyes softened. "Megan, there's probably a reason for it. I mean, loads of weird shit is going on. Maybe they figured you were busy and decided they'd discuss it with you some other time."

It wasn't fair. Whatever the excuse was, it was _unfair_. Shadowhunters came in and out of her life simply to use her magic for help and then disappearing, often trying to skimp out on payments. They didn't treat them fairly, _oh they're Warlocks they don't need to be invited to a meeting about_ Vandal Savage. While it was highly possible she was simply over-reacting, it would not be the first time she had been dismissed by Clark, or the Clave for that matter. It was more than just a little frustrating, and impossibly hurtful.

"You're probably right."

And Gar probably was. Despite his jokes and often-feigned optimism, her brother had a habit of being right. While he often joked that it was his animal senses, he was a good judge of character and situations. It made her wonder how she had survived so long without him.

He was her _half_ brother. They shared a mother. While her father was a Demon, Gar's father was a normal human. Gar's only connection to the Shadow World had supposed to have just been Megan and their Uncle John (she sometimes wondered what it was with her family and Demons, but decided that was one secret that could stay hidden). When he was five they had been living in Africa, helping out with animal conservation when Gar had wandered off. They had found him in the forest, mauled. It didn't take long for them to discover it had been a Werewolf that had attacked him.

"Probably? Sis, you _know_ I'm _always_ right."

"Sure you are, hermano."

The door bell rang, and with a small smile she left her brother and his friend alone.

Slowly opening the door, a frown fixed itself onto her face.

"Hey there, Megs. Mind if we come in?"

Really, she should say _yes_. Yes she did mind.

Instead, she took in a deep breath and a step back. Pulling the door further open, she gestured to allow the four _boys_ to enter her home. She didn't mind Dick so much, and Tim could be lovely. Jason was far too violent for her taste, and Damian was too aggressive and patronising; not to mention there was something _off_ about the youngest of Wayne's boys.

"What can I do for you?" She asked as the door closed.

It never did well to show that she was nervous around Vampires, but there was something about the presence of the four of them together that scared her.

"What do you know about returning from the dead?" Dick's arms were folded across his chest, worry and curiosity clear as day in his eyes. "And not the Human-Necromancy thing either. As in, how possible is it to bring a Vampire back from say, being staked."

Involuntarily, her eyes drifted to Jason. As far as everyone had been aware, he had most certainly been destroyed. The fact that he was _back_ suggested that it was possible. Yet no one seemed to know the ins or outs of _that_ situation, only that whatever Jason had been through had thoroughly messed him up. She also highly doubted that they were there to look into a resurrection Jason would have the answers to.

"I've _barely_ studied Necromancy. I haven't even really considered looking into it." Chewing on her bottom lip, she folded her own arms as she looked down at the ground. "I can look into it for you, my Uncle John has plenty of books on different types of Necromancy." Because all she ever wanted was to be of help, and at least Dick was nice to her. Sometimes she could almost see herself convincing herself that they were _friends_. "Can I ask why?"

Damian looked bored, while both Tim and Dick seemed slightly paler than usual. Jason looked nothing short of _livid_.

"Some bastard that I most _definitely_ killed has been encouraging rogues to drain orphans."

Her head snapped up as her stomach lurched. It was perhaps one of the few things she appreciated about Jason, he liked to cut to the chase. It made her life easier; even if it slowly shredded the little innocence she had left.

"I- Oh my god."

He snorted. "I know. Disgusting fucker."

" _Language_." Damian hissed, and the looked that crossed Jasons face _almost_ made her want to laugh.

Nodding, she moved to one of the bookshelves near the back of the room. "I can hunt out what information I can, but I-"

"Hey, no pressure." Dick's voice was soothing and kind as she pulled a book from the shelf. "This isn't the first time he's come back from the dead. We just want to know how he's doing it."

She wondered if the unspoken ' _so we can make sure he stays dead next time_ ' was only in her imagination. Dick and Tim didn't believe in murder, but she could be tempted to believe Jason and Damian would want to know how to keep a monster dead. While she knew extremely little about Damian, what information she did have implied that while he did not kill, he was not opposed to it. After all, it wasn't the first time Dick had complained about his brothers attempts on Tim's life.

"Who's come back from the dead?" Gar's hands were stuffed into his hoodie pockets as he looked at the Wayne boys cautiously.

"Joe Kerr." Tim said slowly, his expression tight.

Megan's eyes flickered to Jason, understanding flooding through her. Even the cities civilians knew to be terrified of the monster that was Joe Kerr. She had yet to meet someone who had not hear of at least one of the psychopath's exploits.

Fear tugged at her heart as she ran her fingers down the spine of her book. "Maybe he's possessed." The words slid past her lips without her thinking about what she was saying. "Or maybe he is a Greater Demon posing as a Vampire."

"What?"

Dick and Damian were staring at her as if she had said something life changing. But really, when she thought on the matter a little longer, she wondered why no one else had thought of it first.

"It was just a thought." She said quietly.

"He can't be." Gar cut in. "It's a great theory, but the Shadowhunters in Gotham are Demon _specialists_. They would be able to tell if a Greater Demon was posing as a Vampire."

"Maybe-" Tim tapped a finger against his chin. "It's a theory worth holding onto. What do you think, Jay?"

Jason's gaze was locked on Megan, as if he was only just seeing her. "I think _specialist_ is just a word. We need to keep our options open." His eyes drifted to Dick. "Either Morse is spot on and this is Demon work – be it possession or a Greater Demon; or this is high level necromancy. Either way it needs to be dealt with."

"What about Raven?" Jaime had slipped into the room behind Gar and was looking at him carefully. "Isn't necr-"

Gar was glaring at him. " _Dude_. No."

"Who's Raven?" Dick was looking towards Gar, voicing the question lingering at the tip of Megan's tongue.

"No one." Gar responded almost a little too defensively. "She's not a part of this. You want necromancy, let Megan handle it."


	3. Chapter 3

It was not long after lunch that he found himself storming towards the front doors of the Institute. Ignoring Roy's baffled ' _What the fuck got his panties in a twist_ ' as energy surged through each and every one of his cells.

He needed air. Needed to breathe somewhere that didn't make him feel as though he was being buried alive. But more importantly, he needed to _move_. Needed to feel each and every cell in his body stretch. To expel the energy that was building each and every millisecond, and training was no longer cutting it.

Gotham wasn't what he wanted. It was depressing; like something a person would see in a post-apocalyptic movie. It was a dystopian world co-existing alongside the real world. A horrific nightmare come to life. And he hated it. Hate the restrictions that came with being forced into living there. Not that he had complained much.

Wally had done enough of that for the both of them.

But Wally wasn't 'a kid'. Wally got to regularly go on missions. Wally got to regularly stretch his legs. Wally got to attend meetings and know what the hell was going on. All he got were snippets. Overheard whispers about Vandal and Slade, even mentions of Ra's and _Zoom_ -

The mere thought of the latter had shudders running up Bart's spine. Because even if Vandal hadn't been seen in fifteen years, the others had been. Members of the light had cropped up every so often, destroying lives before disappearing again. And Zoom- god, he could kill Zoom. It didn't matter how illegal it was; he had never wanted to harm someone the way he wanted to harm Zoom.

Jogging as slowly as he possibly could without looking weird, he tried to take his mind off of the monsters that were rumoured to be gathering in Gotham.

It wasn't often he got to be alone with his thoughts. Either he was training, on a mission, more training, eating, or asleep. And most of that involved the presence of others.

He actually enjoyed taking time to himself. Enjoyed reading, or just _being_ in the world for a moment. Jogging in the city allowed him to just exist. Another person passing the world by.

Eventually he came across a Starbucks and decided to take a break from his quote-in-quote jogging.

Walking up to the counter, he smiled at the girl stood behind the cash register. The first thing to flit through his mind was to question whether her hair was naturally white or not. There was a hint of silver in her blue eyes, and a part of him wondered why the emotion that flickered through them looked so much like recognition. He was absolutely certain that if he had seen her before, he would most definitely remember her.

"You know, most people _don't_ go jogging in jeans and a shirt."

Shrugging, he quickly looked up to the menu boards before looking back at the girl – _Rose_ , her name tag said.

"I had already left home before I decided to jog. Had to work with what I've got. Could I get a venti hot chocolate, whipped cream and the works to sit in, please." Glancing at the food, he felt his stomach growl. "Ooh!" His eyes widened and he felt a grin stretch across his face. "I'll take two cinnamon buns as well please."

A perfectly sculpted eyebrow rose as she grabbed a marker. "Should I tell your teacher you're skipping school." Her lips had pulled into a smirk, and he almost felt offended.

Almost.

"I don't go to school anymore." Cocking his head to the side, he watched as she put the order through the till. "You don't exactly look like you're old enough to have left school." Not that he knew all that much about mundane schooling.

With a snort, she slid the plate with the two cinnamon buns across the counter towards him. "You wouldn't catch me dead anywhere near one of those hell holes. That'll be nine fifty."

Handing over ten dollars he nodded. "Sitting around all day sucks, but some of the teachers could be wicked cool. That and-" Someone appeared behind him in the queue and when he glanced to the side he felt his face fall.

"Wally said I would find you here." There was a smile on her tan face, blue eyes wide and somehow _happy_. "I need to talk to you."

"Here's your change, freckles."

Looking back up at Rose he smiled, thanked her and moved to the end of the bar to collect his drink.

After collecting his drink and setting himself down at a table by one of the windows, he was joined by Cassie. He had known her all of five days, and while she was fast en-route to becoming one of his best friends, he wasn't in the mood. Frustrated bitterness was still clinging to his cells, not to mention he had been content talking to the barista.

"She's pretty for a _mundane_." Cassie all but whispered the last word and yet still managed to strictly emphasise the word and it's importance.

Shrugging, he took a drink of his hot chocolate. "I didn't notice." Moving to pull at the cinnamon bun, he met Cassie's eyes. "So what's up? Roy steal Artemis' bow again? Cause I've gotta ask, does he do that this often all the time? It's already getting old and I've been here like five days. I can't imagine how the rest of you cope because if I have to deal with it much more I'm just gonna buy her that new bow th-"

"Nah, this is just a thing that happens every couple of months. Artemis will say something that will drive Roy nuts, so he'll spend a week or two stealing her bow and hiding it. Then Clark will get involved and it will be over until the next time."

Stuffing his mouth with bun, he nodded slowly as he chewed. ' _Hmming_ ' through the food. "What set him off this time?"

"Artemis keeps implying that he has a crush on Jade Nguyen." Glancing around the coffee shop Cassie leaned forward, a grin plastered to her face. "He totally does though. It's so obvious, and totally hilarious cause she's- Well, there's a reason she isn't supposed to leave Idris you know?"

"We should set them up." He decided. "How crash would that be? Roy would stop acting so repressed, and Artemis could sing ' _I told you so_ ' to the world like we know she wants to."

For a moment, Cassie looked like someone had told her Christmas had come early. "Okay, yes. _Yes_. Project Rade – Or Joy? Definitely Joy. Project Joy is now totally a thing. We can work on that in between preparing for whatever war everyone is convinced is coming. And speaking of war, guess what I heard?"

"The Vamp's are secretly plotting to destroy us all and take their rightful place as Kings of Gotham?"

"No." And then Cassie's face grew more serious. "The League has made some kind of deal with the Court and they've returned to the city."

He might have only been in Gotham for five days, but he was anything but an idiot. Not only did his brain work far faster than the average Shadowhunters, he had an eidetic memory. Everything he had heard or seen on the news; every rumour; every image. It was seared into his mind.

For a moment, his heart felt as if it was beating at a normal rate. The League was a group of highly trained, impossibly skilled Nephilim who cut themselves off from the Clave and went into hiding. No one heard from them unless they wanted to be seen or heard. The Court was a mix of Nephilim and Downworlders who were against everything the Clave stood for. However last he had heard the Court were one hundred percent against the Light, so-

"That doesn't make any sense."

"Right?" Cassie pulled her phone from her pocket. "I asked a friend of mine if he knew anything about the deal, 'cause he's been lowkey looking into the Court- He said he didn't know anything about the League other than the fact he's convinced he saw Ra's in Whole Foods yesterday. But what he does know is that the Court are scouting again. Which is kinda terrifying when you think about it."

"Scouting?"

"For an operative. They're looking for a new ' _Talon_ '." She made inverted commas with her fingers, a look of disgust on her face. "I mean, half of me doesn't want to care because B's Clan usually deals with that shit, but the other half of me knows that it's different this time around. I mean, come on, Slade fucking Wilson has reappeared, do you know how terrifying that is? He tried to kill Conner and Kara when they were kids. And he was weirdly obsessed with Grayson for like, ages."

Most people seemed to find Cassie's gossiping frustrating, but Bart loved it. Because while most people though gossiping was useless, Cassie knew how to use senseless talking to gather information. She would gather bits and pieces and piece together the facts and then she passed it on. Or at least, she had started passing it on to Bart. Who took what she told him and tried to figure out what she might be missing.

Maybe it was wrong of Cassie to 'accidentally' eavesdrop on top secret enclave meetings, but it meant that the two of them weren't as in the dark as they would be otherwise. He liked being included in something; even if that something could end up having his ass suspended from active duty in a heartbeat.

At least the rest of the Institute, and anyone who passed them by, just thought they were gossiping kids. As frustrating as the stereotype was, it gave them space. Meant that maybe, just maybe, they could start up their own investigations.

"I think most of the bad guys need hella intensive therapy sessions." Cocking his head to the side, a dry laugh slid past his lips. "So long as the therapists are tested first. We don't need another Harleen."

Cassie nodded, taking a sip from her drink. "I could do it. I'd love to get into, like, Ra's head for like two minutes. He's terrifying, but I just want to know why they think the way they do."

"What makes the villains tick, with Cassandra Sandsmark."

* * *

Leaning back against the wall, his fingers drummed against the concrete ground. Staking out wasn't exactly his thing, but someone had to do it. Someone had to figure out what was _really_ going on. Everything being hearsay was frustrating. News told him one thing; pack members told him another; Selina twisted her words to make it would like it was nothing; Cassie was never told anything; Kori couldn't tell him anything because she was _missing_ ; Raven needed every ounce of protection she could get; and Vic-

Closing his eyes he let the hatred for the world burn in his chest. Everything sucked.

He felt like he was being pulled in fifty different directions. Whispers of war were everywhere, but no one knew exactly what was happening. The Nephilim didn't know nearly as much as anyone pretended they did, because this was Gotham.

Gotham didn't want the Shadowhunters there, and with no one cooperating they were weak. And he wanted to blame everyone. At least Megan tried to get along with everyone; but the Shadowhunters abused how nice she was. Bruce kept everyone a mile away, distancing himself from everyone and everything; pushing to get the Nephilim to leave the city. Selina kept more information to herself than she shared with the pack. After Kori, the Fae Folk seemed to remove themselves from contacting _anyone_.

Sometimes he felt so utterly alone; because he wanted this solved before the war really broke out. Maybe he was just more invested than everyone else. It wasn't the first time someone he cared about was entangled with the man's plans for the world. Just this time, he was going to save them. Even if it meant losing himself in the process.

He wouldn't lose anyone else to the psychopath.

"Hasn't your sister ever told you that you shouldn't be out so late by yourself?"

The familiar voice hit his ears, and his eyes flew open. A grin spread across his face as he met the warm, chocolate brown eyes of his best friend.

"Dude, hasn't anyone ever told you that you're terrible at sneaking up on people?"

It was far from the truth; despite how large Vic was, he could be stealthy when he wanted to be. Much to Gar's chagrin. Despite how sensitive all his senses were, he couldn't always pick up on his best friends approach. There were very few people in the world who could sneak up on him. Although Vic had only joined that short list over the past few months.

Apparently his training was paying off.

"I'm not kidding, dude. You're sat in a fucking alley way, at two o'clock in the morning on a Friday night. What the hell are you thinking?"

"That the only people likely to attack me are the Joker's gang, and last time I checked, dude, I can out run those guys."

Vic dropped down to sit opposite him. "He's still alive." Shaking his head, a scoff slid past his lips. "Which makes no sense what so ever."

"I know, dude. Grayson, Todd, Drake, and Wayne showed up at Meg's because they can't figure out how he's doing it."

"You'd think Todd would have some kind of a clue."

Gar shrugged, staring out of the alley towards the street. "I don't know, dude. Sometimes I think he was never actually killed. Because if he was, Meg's wouldn't be needed."

"I'm surprised Grayson went to your sister and not Zatanna." Vic stated, his tone thoughtful. "Isn't she usually his first choice?"

Nodding, he mulled it over. Most people went to Zatanna rather than Megan, and it frustrated him. Just because his sister wasn't the greatest Warlock in the world didn't mean she wasn't good at her job. If people gave her a chance she could be one of the best in the world. As far as _he_ was concerned though, she was the best in the world. After all, she had single handedly taken out Simon and sent him straight to the Clave. Something no other Warlock had successfully accomplished.

But she could be shy. Always eager to please, and maybe some people found that off putting. Or maybe they felt like going to her was taking advantage of her kindness. She always put missions before herself.

Or maybe it was the fact Zatanna was trained by the greatest Warlock to ever live.

"Zatanna's magic is different. She has a set focus with her magics, Megan works with everything."

"Including necromancy?"

"Initially excluding necromancy. She's started studying it now. As the technical High Warlock of Gotham, she should have a rough grasp of everything."

Vic cocked his head to the side. "I take it you avoided mentioning Rae."

Narrowing his eyes, he turned to meet Vic's gaze. "Jaime mentioned her, I cut him off. I've warned her that her name was mentioned to the Wayne Clan in the context of Warlock. Just gotta hope they don't go investigating."

"I'm sure she'll be fine. If anyone knows how to protect themselves, it's her."

"I just don't want her being dragged into a world she doesn't want involved in."

"And yet you've happily forced yourself into her life."

Despite it being a teasing-joke, the words sliced through him like a butter knife. "I'm in her life as Garfield Logan, veterinary receptionist. Not Gar, werewolf. She needed a friend, and that's what I am."

"We should try all meeting up for coffee some day. I'll find a way to contact you and you can drag Rae along. I miss hearing you two do nothing but bicker."

"How's it going?"

Vic looked at the ground, shaking his head. "Well, we're setting up near Gotham. So I'll be a hell of a lot closer. Training is intense as hell, dude. You're lucky I can manage these monthly meet ups. And I'm still barely scraping level two."

"Cassie said there's rumours the League and the Court have made some kind of deal."

Nodding, a humourless laugh slid past his lips. "It's fucking crazy man. I first heard about the deal a fortnight ago." A mix of horror and worry settled in his eyes. "Apparently the prophecy is more commonly known than we thought. Ra's, the Court, Vandal- They want to see it come to pass. They believe that by enacting the prophecy they will be the chosen ones. That they will be leading the world to a new era under their control."

"What, so the Light are cultists now?"

"Basically. We don't get to join up until we're level five, so I'm just working off of hearsay."

"It's been enough so far. So long as we can find Kori and stop the war, we're good. Slade isn't getting away with his shit. Not this time."

A dark grin stretched across Vic's face. "We're gonna get that son of a bitch. We're gonna stop the light. We're going to tear the League apart. We're going to prove to the Clave that segregation is stupid; that Nephilim and Downworlder's can work together without incident."

"We're going to change the world, dude."

"Or die trying."

* * *

The blade sliced through the Demon and it burst into flames before turning to a pile of ash on the floor.

His chest was heaving, and he wanted to scream at everyone who thought it was a good idea that _just_ Artemis and he should go on the mission. All he had done for _two hours_ was kill Demons. Two whole hours. While he appreciated getting to expel his built up energy, it was still tedious over kill.

"This could have been finished forty five minutes ago if Roy and Conner had been with us." He hissed, pulling his stele out of his boot so he could draw an iratze onto his torso.

Looking over to Artemis, he saw her drawing her own iratze onto her upper arm. "Broody and broodier apparently had more important meetings to attend to."

"Bart and Cassie could have come."

Because there was no arguing that statement. There was no reason for the two youngest members of the Institute to have not joined them.

"They've been begging to do something all day."

Artemis' lips twitched as she drew a second iratze on her own torso. "It was why the kid took off earlier, wasn't it? He's bored."

 _Not quite_. He thought to himself, thinking on how he had felt Bart's frustration at their situation.

"He's used to getting to go on missions."

While the statement wasn't one hundred percent true, uncle Barry had stressed the need to keep the truth one hundred percent under wraps. They were in Gotham. An unpredictable, and ridiculously dangerous city. While they didn't have to hide anything in Central, there was no telling as to what could happen if the truth got out in Gotham.

At that point, he was one hundred and one percent certain that Hal was the only person in Gotham that knew. Not even Roy knew, and that was saying something.

Coughing, Artemis shook her head wryly. "He should be allowed to come with us. He's not quite up to standard, but he needs to get his feet wet. The more someone gets out and about, the faster they learn."

"He's better than he lets on." He stated quietly. "I just don't think he's all that good with dealing with new people."

He could still remember Bart's return to the Central Institute. For months he had been a mix of different characters; as though he was testing out which personality people reacted best to. He could remember sitting his cousin down, and telling him to be whoever _he_ wanted to be. It didn't matter what anyone else though of him; being who made himself happy was what was important.

Since then, Wally had become Bart's number one confidant. He still didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

"I'm sure he'll settle in just fine, baywatch. He and Cass are sure on route to become the worlds best gossips."

Part of him was pretty sure the two kids were fast one route to becoming the worlds greatest spies. Bart had mentioned on more than one occasion about how left out he felt. Everyone else was getting the down low on what was happening in the Downworld while those two were left out of the meetings.

"Come on, Crock. We should be heading back. I don't know about you, but I could sleep for a month."

When they left the warehouse, he decided he could probably sleep for longer than a month. But he always rested pretty quickly. Everything about him was faster than almost everyone else. He healed faster. Rested faster. Ate faster. Thought faster. It was as fun as it was frustrating. Because sometimes he wanted to sleep for hours and hours at a time, but he would be awake before almost everyone else.

Artemis coughed again, and he looked at her from the corner of his eye. He didn't mention it; last time he had mentioned that he thought she might be coming down with something, she almost decked him. Artemis and colds were _not_ friends. Giving her a once over, he internally frowned. She was a little paler than usual, and her skin was almost starting to look clammy.

 _Don't mention it_. He internally hissed. _She'll deck you_.

"My dad's in town."

And okay, _what_?

Momentarily freezing, he pushed himself to continue on as if her saying that _wasn't_ a big deal.

"A-are you okay? With that? I mean-"

She shot him a look and he instantly clamped his mouth shut. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. They weren't friends. They weren't enemies. They weren't each others romantic interest. They lived on a line that was some weird combination of fighting, flirting, keeping each others secrets, and pretending not to care about each others well being.

But they did care; because they weren't friends. They weren't. But they had a strong _friendship_. They fought impossibly well together; knew each others style despite not having fought with one another since they were both students in Idris. They insulted each other, but defended on another whenever any other asshole decided to try and insult the other.

It was the way they had been since the day they had met, and maybe, just maybe, he should have listened to Dinah when she said they would have made good parabati.

"Not really." She replied, pushing forwards. "I hate him."

"I know. I hate him for you too."

"He's rejoined the Light."

And that was it, his opportunity to start just a little bit of digging.

"How do you know that?"

Stopping in the middle of the street, she folded her arms and glared at the cracked pavement beneath their feet. He turned to face her, burying his hands into his trouser pockets.

"He appeared during one of my missions last week. Tried to recruit me. Said the Light are preparing for something new. Something big. Told me I'd be spared if I joined them. That he wanted me to join them. I was stupid enough for a split second to think that he wanted me to join because he cared about me. He said losing such a skilled warrior would be a terrible loss."

"Arty-"

"I _know_. I know he's a bad guy, that he's a monster. That he's going to end up dead. I know I would sentence him to that death if I had to. But still, every time he tells me he wants me to join, I can't help but want that fatherly recognition. It sucks."

"Yeah. Yeah, it really does." Because even if he never spoke about his own dad, it didn't mean he couldn't relate. "I get it, Arty. We all want our parents to love us, but we don't need it. You've got Olly, and even if he is a bit- Odd, he loves you like you were his own. That's a real dad. Someone who takes you in, loves you unconditionally, and is proud of everything that you are. Lawrence can go fuck himself."

Her lips curved into a smile that reached her eyes, and in that moment she looked younger than he had ever seen her. "I'm glad you're around again, even if you hate it here. But if you tell anyone I said that, I'll rip your tongue out."


	4. Chapter 4

The cold hadn't bothered him in years, yet he had never broken the habit of wrapping himself in blankets as he curled up on the couch. His tablet rested on the arm of the couch, and Pennyworth was curled up on his lap. One of his hands tangled in the cat's dark fur, the other scrolling through the city's security footage.

Sometimes, he had to worry about his mentors sanity. The man took being a creature of the night to a whole new level, and a part of him wondered if the rest of them were slowly starting to follow in his footsteps. Going out and going up against rogue Downworlders was not their job. If anything, it meant that they too were going rogue.

He may not have been part of the Shadow World for too long, but he had studied each and every law thoroughly. While he understood where Bruce was coming from – while he wanted to follow in his footsteps and help clean the scum from the streets of Gotham – he liked being alive. Well, as alive as a Vampire could be. He would rather not deal with the Clave; if the hearsay was anything to go by, they were not the nicest people in the world when it came to Downworlders.

"There you are!" Steph appeared in front of him, arms folded and a blonde brow raised. " _What are you doing?_ " She asked in a sing-song voice, lips twitching in a way that implied she knew exactly what he was doing.

"Just looking through the city."

Leaning over slightly, she stared down at the tablet. The screens flickered, the occasional Demon rushing through the streets, some Werewolves leaving their favourite pub, mundanes walking quickly with their heads down – no doubt hurrying home after a night shift.

"You know he won't show up."

Pursing his lips he looked at Steph, raising an eyebrow of his own. "After five years I think I've got that."

Her lips twitched upwards as she shook her head. "He does what he wants red. You can't stare at screens all day and hope he'll come home."

Keeping his mouth shut, he simply stared back at the screen. It was easier to pretend he was simply trying to keep a watch out for their missing family member. Not help him try and track down a psychopath who had come back from the dead, _again_.

Because while he didn't want the Clave to arrest him, he wanted to solve this case. Wanted to help Jason get the answers he needed. Even if the two of them didn't always get along, he was more than willing to help solve Jason's murder. At the end of the day – whether Jason said it or not – that was what was at the core of the mission. Jason had never discussed what had happened the day he had been _killed_ , nor had he ever talked about how he came back. Tim had suspected that maybe he hadn't really died – but there was no evidence for anything.

The first case Tim had ever worked on was the Murder of Jason Todd. Something he had closed a matter of days after he was turned; thinking it had been solved. A case he had reopened when Jason reappeared a year and a half later, then deemed cold a further six months later.

With Joe Kerr having survived Jason's revenge, a whole new set of doors had opened. Jason was more invested than ever in stopping the psychopath; asking Tim to reopen his first ever case. ' _Everything is interconnected. Solve one case, and you'll solve them all_.'

Living a normal life was all but out of the question, but that didn't mean that he couldn't play detective every so often.

"Cass and I are going to play rooftop tag, you want join us or are you going to keep playing babysitter?"

"We should get the whole family to play one night. Just all rush Bruce at once, scream _tag_ and run."

A grin split across her face. "You mean a repeat of the time you, Dick, and I got him to play?"

"But full scale." He nodded, running a hand down Pennyworths back. "We could easily convince Dick, Bab's, and Cass. We might need to bribe Kate. We would definitely have to bargain with Damian. We would need to make a deal that whoever was tagged second would tag Jay, just to get him to play."

"B wouldn't like Damian playing." Steph said thoughtfully. "I might be able to convince Jay to play without force-tagging him."

"Yeah, it would probably be better if you convinced him, as opposed to us forcing him." Nodding he cocked his head to the side. "And that's why we rush Bruce. When he realises Damian's playing he'll feel obligated to join in to keep an eye on him." Tapping his chin thoughtfully, his lips pulled downwards. "Has the brat even ever played?"

"I don't think so. Unless running across rooftops to hunt down rogue's counts?"

"No, it definitely doesn't."

"I assume you're not coming." She took a step back, looking up over the back of his head.

"Nope. I've got babysitting to do."

"Your loss, red." A grin slowly cracked across her face; then she was leaping over the couch and racing after a blur he could only imagine to be Cass.

Resting his hand on Pennyworths head, he scratched by the cat's ears softly. The animal moved into the motion and a smile twitched at Tim's lips. It was rare that the cat was in his company for long, especially since his owner was _Damian_. And Damian hated the thought of Tim touching _anything_ that belonged to him. Yet Pennyworth didn't seem to mind Tim in the slightest, and while he had never admitted it out loud, he rather enjoyed the cat's company.

With it being two thirty am Damian was more than likely asleep, and most definitely not looking for the cat that was an _ungrateful traitor_.

The buzz of a phone sliced through the settling silence, indicating that Tim had a text.

 _No sign of him?_

Picking up he phone he thumbed out a response. _Sorry. I'm still keeping an eye out though._

He didn't get a response to that, not that he expected one. Jason was on a mission, and he would get the answers he needed one way or another. Picking up the tablet, he minimised the security footage and pulled up his old case notes. Scribbled carelessly by a teenager who didn't understand how over-his-head he was getting.

Circled repeatedly in red was the words that he had never been able to make sense of.

 _Todd's body was recovered by officials_

He had seen what happened to a Vampire when they were killed. The way their body crumbled and burned before turning to dust.

How had Jason's body survived?

* * *

The knock was one that was thoroughly unfamiliar to her. Loud and demanding. On the third pound, she began unlocking the door. Hands shaking slightly, she had no idea who could possibly be at her door at three twenty seven in the morning. Exhaustion was settling into her bones, and when she finally got the door open her blood ran cold.

"Morse."

The green tinted, blazing blue eyes were locked onto her. A slight desperation and a hunger that she most definitely didn't associate with feeding burned through her.

Except some incredibly small part of her felt _accepted_. Not because he was stood at her front door rather than any other Warlocks. But because he had called her Morse _again_. The same way he called his clan members by their surnames. Usually he referred to her a Warlock. To be referred to by name meant she had to be of some importance. Worth something _enough_ to be mentioned by name.

"Jason." She forced a smile onto her face. "Whatever can I do for you, at three thirty _a.m_."

A slight smirk tugged at his lips. "I didn't interrupt your beauty sleep did I? It's easy to forget that the _living_ aren't always awake." There was something bitter lingering in his voice, something that made her sad just hearing it.

"Not at all. Some of us are up all night studying necromancy." Stepping back from the door, she held out an arm. "Would you like to come in?"

"That's why I'm here." Stepping over the threshold his eyes scanned the room thrice before he walked towards her couch.

Closing the door behind him she adjusted her dressing gown, a reminder that he had in fact disturbed her _beauty sleep_.

"Where's the Lycanthrope?"

"Garfield? He's asleep, why?"

A dark eyebrow rose, a look of something akin to disbelief flickered across his face. "Ah. He snuck out."

Confusion settled in her chest, a frown forming of her face. "What? Garfie-"

"Something tells me the kid does it a lot. Probably visiting that top secret girlfriend of his."

The thought of Garfield sneaking out didn't sit well with her. Not when Vandal Savage was rumoured to be making a home for himself in Gotham; not when the League were parking themselves on the city's doorstep. She had thought her brother knew better than to leave without telling her, if anything happened to him and she had no idea where he was-

"Have you heard from the Institute?" His hands were clasped dangling between his knees, his elbows resting on his thighs as he leaned forward. "I hear the heads of all our factions have been getting called in to ensure _peace_."

"I haven't heard from them." She admitted, her voice barely a whisper. It still hurt to think that everyone else was being involved with what was coming and she wasn't.

"Not even a call from your Shadowhunter boyfriend?" The blood rushed up to her cheeks, and before she could question what made him suggest such a thing he started talking again. "It's pretty obvious. Although it's more painfully obvious that he hasn't been around recently; his sent has almost completely faded. If it helps, I don't know what the fuck is going on either. But then, I have my own shit to deal with. Psychopaths coming back from the dead and all."

Any fear she had of being alone in her flat with Jason Todd slowly dissipated, and she moved to sit on the arm chair to his left. Unstable and dangerous? That he most certainly was. A cold blooded killer? She became less sure with each interaction she had with him.

Perhaps the Clave just needed someone to pin the unsolved crimes on. A resurrected, unstable Vampire was a perfect scape-goat.

" _Psychopath_." She corrected. "Singular, unless some other monster has been resurrected recently."

Leaning back slightly his gaze grew more intense once again; looking at her as if she was a puzzle he was struggling to solve. His jaw twitched for a moment before he settled on slowly saying "There's just the two of us."

 _Psychopaths. Plural_. She thought to herself. _Does he view himself on a similar level to the 'Joker'._

"You're _not_ a psychopath." She said, sounding more sure than she felt. "Angry, maybe unstable..." _Definitely unstable_. "But not a psychopath. I don't think for a second that you are _actually_ insane; just incredibly traumatised. And that's- _that's okay_."

If someone told her a week ago that she would be sat in her dressing gown at three thirty in the morning, alone in her apartment with Jason Todd, telling him that being traumatised was perfectly okay, she would have laughed herself stupid. But there she was, tucking a strand of gingery red hair behind her ear, looking at him as earnestly as she possibly could. Hoping beyond hope he believed her. Because the only thing ' _insane_ ' about him was that he serious PTSD. Anyone in his position would be traumatised.

He wasn't handling it well. He let it dictate his life, but in that moment she couldn't find it within herself to blame him. That would be implying she would handle such a thing better than he was, and she couldn't know for sure that she would. She couldn't possibly know how she would react to being murdered and brought back. How she would react to her murderer still running around _free_. She could scarcely imagine what killing the monster that murdered her would be like; and then on top of that, having said murderer return from the dead.

Trauma seemed like such a weak word for such a convoluted situation.

"Are you psychoanalysing me?" There was a hint of a snarl, but for once she didn't feel scared.

"No. I'm just saying that if the only people who have been resurrected are you and _him_ , then there's only one psychopath come back from the dead. And it's not you."

Pressing his lips together for a moment, he nodded. "How much do your services cost?"

Blinking, she opened her mouth and felt it close again. Her heart stuttered as she stared at the Vampire in front of her. "Ex-excuse me?"

"If I want your help with something, what is the cost likely to be? Price ranges, last time I checked Warlock's don't tend to work for _free_. You failed to mention how much it's going to cost Grayson to pay for your necromancy help, and I want to know how much it's going to cost me if I employ your help for something that involves you leaving your cosy little hollow. So do I pay by the hour or what?"

The backs of her eyes stung as emotion built up in her chest. Overwhelmed by the fact someone had _asked_ without presumption. Someone had come to _her_ for help, and asked what the price for that help would be before proceeding. Almost every other transaction she had, the customer had always asked about the price _after_ she had helped them.

"Well um.." Swallowing, she wrung her hands together. "It depends on what it is you're wanting me to do. If it's a spell I charge by the simplicity; the more energy and time it takes the more expensive it is. For the necromancy research I won't charge much, it's simply information-"

"If I was asking for spells, tracking, locating, teleporting, possibly looking into someone's mind, field trips, and _absolute_ discretion. And all for an unknown period of time."

Her jaw did drop that time. "I- I could-" It was as if her mind had short circuited. Never before had anyone wanted more than one or two of her services at a time. "I could- I can charge you at a set daily rate. But before I agree to anything, why exactly would you need my assistance?"

"I need help solving a case."

"I assume it's not Joe Kerr's resurrection."

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her mouth felt impossibly dry at the thought that he could hear her body reacting to the suspense. Each fluctuation in her pulse would be registered and catalogued.

" _My_ murder and resurrection."

"I thought the police had closed the case, and Bruce declared it cold?"

Jason nodded, sitting back and dropping one arm across the back of her couch. "After we left here the other day, I asked Tim to locate his version of the case and reopen it. Whether he's a Greater Demon, A possessed Vampire, or just a class A psychopathic Vampire, we need to stop him. If we can't figure out how he's done this, _again_ , then would it not make more sense to reopen my case? If we can work out what happened to me, then we can work out what's happening to him."

It was the one thing she learned that night that had truly surprised her. While unsaid, it screamed out at her like blaring headlights. If Jason Todd was secretly reopening his case, then it meant he didn't truly know or understand what had happened to him. But more importantly, he didn't want anyone knowing that.

"Four hundred and fifty for every day I help." She said slowly.

It was cheap. Dirty cheap considering she could be putting her life on the line if she accompanied him to any set location. But he was being surprisingly upfront and honest. He had asked her for a price before asking for her help.

The look on his face told her he knew it was _cheap_.

"You sure?"

A smile tugged at her lips. "You asked nicely. Don't tell your friends, they'll expect the same treatment."

"Don't worry about it." He snorted out. "I don't have friends."

She wanted to say that such a statement was untrue, but the man spent more time hunting down rogues and killing them than he did around people. It made her wonder how often he really spent in relatively _civilised_ company.

Shaking her head, she ignored every red flag and softly said "You sound like Bruce."

His eyes narrowed and for a moment she thought he was actually going to snarl. Instead, he stood up and rolled his shoulders. "Hasn't anyone told you not to insult your clientele?"

Shrugging, she let out a fake sigh. "Don't be too nice to your clientele. Don't be hard on your clientele. Don't under-charge your clientele. Don't over charge your clientele. Don't play favourites with your clientele. Always deal with the client who offers the most money first." Leaning back in her seat she raised an eyebrow. "I don't really listen to any of the do's and don't's anymore. When do we start?"

"How soon can you be ready?"

* * *

"Down you get Pennyworth."

Despite preparing to stand up, the cat was still firmly curled on his lap. Lime green eyes were staring up at him, almost _daring_ him to actually stand. Had the cat belonged to _anyone_ else he simply would have physically moved Pennyworth. However, unfortunately for him, Pennyworth belonged to Damian. And Tim knew his own luck.

The moment he bad mouthed, or attempted to physically move the cat, Damian would appear. The past few months he had been walking on a fine enough line when it came to Bruce's son, if he could avoid a single argument or full blown fight he would. It was exhausting trying to match Damian's fire when there was a million other things that needed to be done. It was exhausting reigniting a feud he had thought to be done.

"Come on Pennyworth, work with me here. _Please_?"

He ever so gently tapped the cat's lower back. In response Pennyworth simply tilted his head.

Tim wanted to scream.

There would never be any doubting who the damn cat belonged to. He was just like his owner. Stubborn, frustrating, and constantly demanding someones attention. Unfortunately for Tim, he was that someone. Any time he wanted to actually get something done, one of the two of them would get in his way.

" _Tt_."

If Tim's heart still beat it would likely have stilled.

 _Don't start an argument_. He began chanting the mantra silently. _Don't start an argument. Don't start an argument. Please don't start an argument_.

"Coffee, Drake, _really_? Can your undead physiology even handle such a substance?"

Damian was staring at the mug in Tim's hand. What was left of the liquid had long gone cold, but the aroma had most certainly stuck around.

"I wouldn't drink it if my biology couldn't handle it." He said slowly, forcing himself to cut off before he could add the ' _I'm not an idiot_ '.

"It cannot possibly be of any use to you."

"It isn't. That doesn't mean I can't drink it."

Damian pressed his lips together tightly, the skin turning almost white. His gaze moved to Pennyworth, and he let out a slow breath. "Honestly, Pennyworth, we have _discussed_ this." He folded his arms across his chest an expression, that Tim was almost convinced was a mix between disappointment and fond, flickered across his face. "Multiple times I might add. Yet here you are, once _again_."

Taking in an unnecessary breath he looked down to meet Pennyworth's eyes. "You heard him, you're not supposed to associate with me."

Pennyworth pawed at Tim's stomach before turning and leaping onto the ground. After a moment he stood, letting the blankets fall off of him.

"You know, if you don't want us hanging out you could always make sure he's in your room when you go to bed."

"If you went to bed at a normal time, like a normal person, he would not feel inclined to join you."

Raising an eyebrow he met Damian's gaze head on. "You're aware I'm a _Vampire_ , right? I'm naturally nocturnal."

"Father, Grayson, and the others sleep for a few hours during the night. With such a lack of light in Gotham Vampire's are perfectly capable of functioning similarly to the rest of us."

"I appreciate the effort, but the _only_ person around here who could possibly be considered to having a normal sleeping pattern is Alfred." He smiled slightly. "And anyway, I was working."

Damian's head cocked to the side, curiosity starting to brew in his eyes. "Working? On the Kerr case? You are aware that we cannot progress until Morse gets back in touch with us? Honestly Drake, I'm starting to think that you suffer from obsession. You do not know how to take a break."

"I'm working on something else, Damian." And maybe he shouldn't have said anything about why he was up at God-know's what time in the morning. Sticking with being nocturnal should have been the extent of it. "Now _you_ should probably go back to bed. I'm going out."

As he went to leave, Damian moved to block his way. The younger was taller than him, while not by much, it was enough to consistently frustrate him. While Tim was forever frozen, unable to ever reach his potential height, Damian continued to grow. Sometimes, that one inch made it feel as if Damian was towering over him. A mocking reminder that Tim was a teenager permanently, stuck living a half life while Damian lived the life of the definition of _privilege_.

"Where are you going?"

 _Scout out the warehouse. It's strictly recon, so don't be stupid and go investigating_.

"The Red Moon."

Damian raised a perfect eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. "You are going to a bar alone? That's terribly _sad_ , Drake. Or is it desperate?"

 _Don't argue with him. Don't let him get a rise out of you._

 _Push on._

 _Leave without an incident_.

"There's a band playing I like playing, I thought I would go and support them."

"At four fifteen in the morning? What sort of terrible band are they?"

Letting himself feel his exhausting, he let his shoulders sag. With the straightest face he could muster; "Emo."

Damian cocked his head to the side, eyes almost drinking Tim in as if he could not possibly make sense of him.

"Where are you really going?" The slow pace of the sentence almost took Tim by surprise.

"To the Red Moon. I'm serious." It wasn't one hundred percent a lie, he would definitely be going to get a drink after he visited the warehouse.

"Okay." Damian dropped his arms to his sides. "Take me with you."

If Tim's heart had been beating, it most definitely would have stopped.

"Excuse me?"

"I wish to accompany you to the Downworlder bar. I have never visited one before."

"And you are going to have to wait a little longer. Even _if_ I wanted to, I can't take you _anywhere_. Bruce would have my head on a spike before I could say 'Sorry'. If it was up to me, you would be allowed out more often and with any one of us. But Bruce is already pissed at _Dick_ for breaking the rules, I can't begin to imagine the shit storm that would occur if _I_ took you anywhere."

" _Tt_. You are so painfully boring, Drake." And with that Damian turned on his heel and left the room.

By the time Tim had left the manor, his mind was running a mile a minute. Not once in his life had he ever imagined Damian backing down from a subject so easily. He almost pulled his phone out then and there to text Steph about how it was the single most terrifying thing to have ever happened to him.

And he had crawled out of his own grave, drank three bags of blood while still covered in his own bodily fluid and earth, while surrounded by complete strangers.

That was most certainly a day he wished he did not have to remember.

By the time he found a vantage point to watch the warehouse he was fully prepared to turn around, go back to the Manor, and ask Damian why the hell he had given up so easily.

Settling at the edge of the old building he pulled out his phone. There were three warehouses in the distance, a little run down, most definitely not being used for their original purposes. With his enhanced eyesight he didn't need binoculars, though he had a pair with him just in case.

 _I'm here_. He sent the text to Jason. Still wondering what it was the elder actually wanted him to be looking out for.

As the minutes ticked by, faint movement caught his attention. There were most definitely people inside the warehouse. Who they were and what they were doing was completely unknown to him, but he expected that he wasn't supposed to be finding _that_ out.

Using his binoculars he focused his gaze, narrowing in on the lone figure stood outside. A cigarette held loosely between two fingers, what looked to be a pamphlet in the other. The figure was dressed all in black, a pendant hung around his neck. The symbol on the pendent was one he did not recognise. It looked like a rune, but one he had never seen before. It was crimson red, and the lines were carved jaggedly.

"Ah yes, this looks just how I imagine the Red Moon to be."

The binoculars slid from his fingers, and he could almost feel the blood in his veins get colder.

Bruce was going to skin him alive.

"What. are. you. doing. here?"

"Oh please, Drake. Do you truly believe this is the first time I have disobeyed my fathers rule?"

"No. I just don't understand why you have to get me involved."

Damian sat down next to him, his expression portraying his desire to roll his eyes. Something he did not actually do.

"You got me curious. While I fully believe you sit in your room listening to nothing but the most depressing of music, I do not believe you are sad enough to go to a bar alone and publicly listen to such bands."

"I-" He felt somewhat frozen. "I don't know whether that's an insult, or a stretch at a compliment."

"It is neither. Merely an observation. Now, what on earth are we doing here? Clearly it does not involve alcohol or bad live music."

While he could tell the younger the truth, he decided he valued what trust Jason had put in him more. He had enough experience with Damian's frustration to know that he could survive it. It was easier to deal with an angry brat, than a betrayed Jason.

"You're smart." He started slowly. "The symbol on his pendant, do you recognise it at all?" He held out the binoculars which Damian took from him. "It looks like a rune, but I've never seen it before."

There was a stretch of silence as Damian looked across at the warehouse. He didn't know why the symbol seemed so important, it just did. His gut told him that he needed to know what it was, and for most of his life his gut had never led him astray. Only once could he truly fault his gut, and even then, he had still found the answers he was looking for.

"I have seen it before." Damian said slowly, quietly. Tim looked at him from the corner of his eyes, while the younger kept the binoculars over his eyes. "My mother wore a similar pendant. It was a gift from my grandfather. I also saw the same symbol on a book when I was with the League. When I asked about it, I was told I would find out when I was older. That was long before I found myself on fathers doorstep."

"So it's important to the League." Tim thought out loud. "Or at least to Ra's. So it's not a rune?"

Damian shook his head as he lowered the binoculars. "I do not think so. However, I could be wrong. It's design is incredibly similar to that of a rune, which is why we cannot possibly rule out that train of thought. However, none of that tells me why I am sat on the edge of a building staring at warehouse watching some kind of cult meeting."

"Cult meeting?" He turned his head to look at Damian curiously.

Annoyance and frustration flashed in his jade eyes. "Yes, Drake, a cult meeting. This is your stake out, have you not been paying attention?"

"I _was_ , up until I was derailed by someone who isn't supposed to leave the manor."

"Inside the warehouse there is a man dressed in black and crimson robes, wearing the same symbol. From the movement of his mouth it looks as though he is chanting. The fact this is a meeting not being held in a place of worship, or a publicly owned building implies it is not strictly legal. Most obvious option is that this is a cult."

"And that symbol is what this cult is all about."

"Precisely."


End file.
